


Death Wish

by Jastra



Category: The Collector Series (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Death Wish, Hand Jobs, Imprisonment, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Master/Pet, Mind Break, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jastra/pseuds/Jastra
Summary: After losing his family in a car crash, Arkin finds himself yearning and craving for the physical pain that is the only thing that offers a moment of respite from the emotional agony. And who better to deliver that pain than the Collector himself?
Relationships: The Collector/Arkin O'Brien
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	Death Wish

**Author's Note:**

> I...I don't know what this is. I watched the movies and just had to write something. I know Arkin is so out of character, but I had a really bad craving for something like this.

Six months.

It had been six months since Arkin had escaped the Collector at the rave where hundreds of people had been slaughtered.

Six months since he had saved Elena and the presumed death of the masked serial killer. Six months of slowly healing his broken arms and deep wounds, both physical and mental.

And six, agonizingly long and miserable months since his family had died.

For awhile, Arkin had been certain that the nightmarish events that had started the night he had gone to rob the Chase family were finally over, thinking that he could put all the pain and trauma he had experienced past him and start the long road to healing. For some laughable reason, he had actually believed that he could get his life on track and start anew with Cindy and Lisa. But no, instead, his life had come crashing down around him.

His wife Lisa, and child Cindy had been taken away from him shortly after surviving the Collector’s trapped hotel. Their lives had not been taken by some crazed killer or malevolent ploy, but by a simple and deadly car accident where no one had been at fault. Bad weather, malfunction and a heavy truck coming down the opposing lane; that was all it had taken to kill his loved ones.

_It should've been me driving that car, not Lisa._

But he couldn’t have, not with his mangled arm that had been still healing. After breaking his arm again at the hotel to escape the trap, there had been a fear that it might not heal correctly, but miraculously it had.

After everything he had suffered and fought through in order to stay alive and see his family again, just to have them die such a meaningless and accidental death, it was simply too much to endure. In some sick way, it felt almost tragicomic, a sick joke on his behalf. It still didn't feel real, that after everything he had experienced the world would just take away his loved ones for no good reason.

Arkin had firmly believed that life was finally going to become better, that he had done enough good to outweigh the all bad things he had done in his life by helping Hannah and Elena survive, and by putting an end to the Collector’s sick and twisted work. He had been ready to turn a new leaf in life without his past sins and crimes coming to haunt him, alas, life was not fair. Fortune was a cruel mistress who cared little for his suffering or hardships.

 _What the fuck are you doing Arkin? You seriously can't be thinking about doing this,_ the small voice in the back of the thief's mind told him as he walked towards the small, beautiful and truly cozy looking house. _You are insane, you know you are going to die..._

Arkin knew that very well, and to be completely honest with himself, perishing inside that lovely little house was the plan.

The thief's steps came slowly to a complete halt as he started to hesitate, struggling with his decision to seek that man out from his own volition in this manner. This was beyond deranged and irrational, making Arkin feel like his soul was being pulled into two different directions.

The part of him that yearned for punishment and death urged him to press on and fulfill his death wish and the part that screamed for survival and continuation of his life told him to run before it was too late, to just turn around, walk calmly back to his car and drive away before the killer could detect and capture him.

He had wanted to end it all too many times to count, but after all he had endured and been put through, Arkin felt like he was not allowed to end his own life. It was not his decision to make, nor was he allowed to take the easy way out. No, he'd have to suffer.

But, he couldn’t endure this emotional agony any longer either. Every day was more painful than the one before it, and he found no respite in neither drinking or drugs. As for therapy, it was not something he could afford. Pain...pain was the only thing that could make him forget of Lisa and Cindy for a moment, but in the end, the physical agony always brought the memories of the Collector to the surface of his mind.

He was always there with him, like a ghost he could not get rid of...nor want to.

His dreams were haunted by Hannah’s dead parents, the sight of their mutilated bodies seared into his mind, never to be forgotten. Then of course there were the horrors of the hotel, the people with all humanity forced out of them with chemicals and surgery. No person should have to face such a fate, yet, in some sick way, Arkin felt like he deserved it...yearned such a state of oblivion and pain. It was what he deserved.

But, the dominating present in his dreams still was the Collector, whose masked form stalked him through his dreams all the way to the waking world where he still saw him at every dark corner, making it near impossible to relax.

 _You are out of your fucking mind Arkin. You'll know what awaits you if you walk through that door,_ the broken man told himself as he stood before the lovely little house in the walkway, still hesitating. _Don’t do it, don’t you fucking dare do it_. His hear was hammering against his chest, his breathing growing rapid as he tried to make up his mind; his emotions one chaotic and muddled mess.

One would have thought that after being kidnapped and tortured by a serial killer for weeks, he'd never want to feel physical pain ever again, but in his guilt and sorrow, Arkin had grown to long and crave for it. He deserved it for everything he had done in his life, stealing, being a bad father and being unable to help anyone...for failing his family in every possible way.

He wanted to end it all, to suffer and his miserable existence to just cease. Both at the Chase house and the hotel, the physical pain, adrenaline and fear of death had forced all the unnecessary thoughts out of his mind. Oh how he now longed and missed that clarity; that pure state of mind.

And...who better to deliver the pain Arkin yearned for than the Collector himself?

For a while he had thought the man to be dead (more like hoped), but after a bit of searching and investigation, Arkin had found out the killer was very much alive, even if the kidnappings and murders had ceased for the time being. Whether the Collector had merely given up or was biding his time, keeping a low profile, Arkin did not know or care. In the end, tracking him down had not been that hard.

Arkin stood before the house in daze, knowing that inside that innocent looking home lived the most evil person he had had the misfortune to come across. He knew he should have called the cops and given his info to them and finally see justice done, but in the end he was a selfish creature, thinking only about himself. Yet another reason he deserved this end.

The thief's fingers tightened around the red trunk’s handle as he started to slowly make his way towards the door, dragging the heavy, human sized box behind him.

He was well aware that this was suicide, and even though his mind still screamed and begged him to stop, to turn away and run, he couldn’t. He was either going to get his throat slashed open in an instant, or tortured and **then** his throat cut wide open, but he no longer cared. If his corpse was ever found, it would not be recognizable.

Would the police think he had gone to settle a score that went awry? Or that he had been kidnapped again? He didn't really care. Such things hardly mattered to a dead person.

He stopped at the porch and tried the door; only to find it locked. Arkin sighed and started to search his pockets. Locked doors had never been much of an issue to him.

The twilight had settled over the city a while back and there were really no one around. No witnesses...no tracks for anyone to follow, he had made sure of it. With unreadable expression, Arkin pulled a lock pick out of his pocket and unlocked the front door with no trouble.

The door opened with an eerie creak, welcoming him into the beast’s lair he’d never leave if he entered it.

 _Don’t do it...just don’t, reconsider, please. It is not too late. What would Lisa and Cindy think of you?_ But in this matter, all rationality had left him a long time ago. _Just go back home. You'll pull through this sorrow in time._ Perhaps it was so, but his mind had been made.

As torn as he felt, Arkin knew he was already past the point of no return, able to only move forward towards his doom, and though he was absolutely terrified...he welcomed it.

He stepped inside with the heavy red trunk, ready to close the door behind him. He pondered for few seconds, deciding to slam the door shut as loud as he could to make his presence known to the predator that lurked within the walls.

He dragged the heavy red in to the middle of the room, opening it swiftly as he waited for the killer to come and greet him.

 _Run, you can still get out of there,_ his survival instinct kept pleading and reasoning with him, but the part that yearned for the pain and end hushed it silent.

Arkin could feel his heart start to race as he listened to the steps coming from upstairs. The hard wooden floor made the steps sound eerie and foreboding, echoing ever so slightly from the walls of the house. Soon enough the owner of the house was slowly and carefully descending the stairs down to see just what had found its way into his lair. The thief held his breath when he saw the Collector reach the last step, holding a switch blade in his hand that looked razor sharp.

A shiver ran down Arkin’s spine when he saw the man’s face...of course he had seen him back at the Chase family’s house, but...he was so used to the mask that he tried not to look at his face, casting his gaze down to the carpet and wooden floor.

He could tell the Collector recognized him; how could he not? He had been an uninvited guest to the Chase house and family he had targeted who had been able to stay unnoticed and caught only after coming back to save that little girl. That girl had been the only one to get away, but in the end the thief had been much more interesting catch. He had made the collection with ease.

The Collector could still recall the rush he had felt when he had rammed the ambulance carrying the man to hospital with his van; how he had killed the paramedic and cut the man down from his straps before dragging his struggling form to his van, beating him into submission before locking him inside the red trunk, the very same trunk that was behind the thief now. But he had unfortunately lost him at that rave and soon after, he had lost his whole collection thanks to him.

So yeah, he definitely remembered Arkin.

“Finding you was not hard. In the two hundred mile radius where we last met each other, there are 14 licensed entomologists ...you were number twelve,” Arkin said calmly, expecting the man to lunge at him and stab him to death with the knife the moment he saw he was unarmed. Surprisingly enough, the Collector did not do so and merely took the last step down.

“Are you here to kill me?” the Collector asked quietly. Hearing him speak felt so strange. It almost sounded as if he was not used to speaking. It was forced and not natural to him.

A bit unhinged and amused smile formed on Arkin's lips and he merely shook his head.

 _Why am I here?_ He glanced over his shoulder at the open at the red box that awaited there. To him it almost felt like the trunk was waiting there to lock Arkin's form inside its tight space, forcing him into an uncomfortable position to wait for whatever hell awaited him.

“No,” he replied quietly, knowing that what he was doing was insane, that because he had not given the man's name or location to the police, he wouldn't be the only victim.

 _Quite the contrary, in fact,_ he thought.

The man's body tensed and his grip on the switch blade's handle tightened. What kind of ploy was this? There had to be police waiting outside for certain, surrounding the house. He listened closely, but it truly sounded like it was just the two of them there. The man had come all alone.

“Then?” the Collector inquired with a hint of intrigue to his voice.

“I…” Arkin started, but couldn't find the words. He really couldn't just say ' _I want you to hurt me, I want to die._ ' could he? His was a horrible and vile desire and what made it worse was the strong survival instinct that still lashed at his every action.

But he could no longer escape and he knew it. If he tried to get out, he'd get that knife into his back or throat and fighting back didn't seem plausible either. His fate was all out of his control now...having relinquished all of it to the man before him the moment he had closed the door.

 _Cindy, Lisa, just wait, I'll be with you soon enough, or in few days_. The Collector had broken him all those months ago without Arkin even realizing it.

“I guess that is up to you.” he finally said, mouth suddenly very dry.

The few seconds of silence between them felt like eternity to Arkin as the serial killer made up his mind.

He struck like praying mantis, lunging at his uninvited guest.

Arkin found himself falling backwards when the man kicked him into chest as hard as he could, nearly breaking few ribs. A groan of pain escaped the injured thief's lips as he fell onto the wooden floor and near the red box that awaited for him, wanting to seal his slender form inside it . The kick had knocked all air out of his lungs and he gasping for air now.

His emotions were a one big chaotic mess, feeling at the same time the cold and firm grip of terror and fear on his mind, as well as the sweet kiss and caress of thrill and exhilaration in his soul. He knew what fate awaited him now, what horrible pain he was going to experience.

Arkin heart was hammering painfully hard against his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he backed away from the Collector who towered over him, slowly approaching him with the knife in his hand.

However, before he could get even a meter away from his assailant, the serial killer was on top of the ex thief, punching him a couple of times just to make sure he would be out of it just in case he was going to change his mind. Arkin grunted and closed his eyes, the force of the punch dirtying the hard wood floor with his blood.

The pain... oh how it felt so horrible and good at the same time. He could taste blood in his mouth, the sickening taste of iron on his tongue making him feel both ill and ecstatic . His head was spinning and he felt disoriented, unable to focus his eye sight.

The Collector gripped Arkin's throat while holding the knife close to his soon to be victim's neck. The thief struggled weakly as the serial killer choked the living hell out of him, almost to the point Arkin blacked out. But before that could happen, the killer released his hold on the thief's throat and instead grabbed his form, forcing him inside the heavy red trunk. And though Arkin put on a fight, it was more of a show...a foreplay for the Collector's amusement.

The trunk’s lid was slammed shut, locking the foolish man into the darkness of the cramped space. Arkin pressed his hands and legs against the box's walls as he gasped for air to fill his oxygen starved lungs. Though the box was far from airtight, it felt like he just couldn't get enough air no matter how hard he tried, making him almost hyperventilate.

Panic and despair slowly spread into his mind and soul like vilest of poisons. Only now that he was locked inside the red trunk did he fully realize and understand what he had done. He had given all power to the killer, relinquishing all control over his fate to him. He no longer had a say in any matter.

The ex convict tried to calm down and get a more comfortable position inside the trunk. He could hear and feel how his captor slowly ran his hand across the trunk's surface. For some reason, it felt curious, affectionate even.

Was he amusing to him? Pitiable, laughable or perhaps pathetic? He’d never know for the Collector did not speak. Perhaps that’s why he was so terrifying, and in a way comforting. He didn’t ridicule, boast nor taunt...no, he stayed silent, doing what he pleased, not sharing his reasons or motivations with anyone.

The Collector stayed silent for a moment and merely observed the trunk, expecting his prey to start thrashing and fighting inside the tight space to get out. There had to be some trick to this, an attempt at his life gone wrong, but when his prey remained silent, only shifting inside the box a bit, the Collector relaxed. He sat down on the trunk, taking in the moment and just pondering what to do with this newly collected item.

Such a curious creature this man was. He had never seen a prey so headstrong, resourceful or willful as him. The thief had been able to remain undetected at the Chase house for so long, avoiding and escaping his traps with ease....and even able to save that little girl. The Collector wasn't quite sure what to think of all this. The man had both escaped and destroyed his precious collection yes, but in the end he had willingly sought him out... ready to become the first piece of his new collection. He patted the lid gently in approval. Truly, this one was one of the kind.

But, like any piece of art, he'd require a plenty of work before he'd be perfect.

* * *

Arkin got the pain he had craved for.

 _It hurts so much_ , Arkin thought as he once again found himself hanging from the ceiling of the Collector's basement.

It seemed like the serial killer had not yet found a new location for his collection. This, his own home would have to suffice for the time being. The cellar of the lovely little house had been turned into Arkin's very own personal torture chamber. No doubt the man was keeping a low profile for now to throw the police completely off his trail. Luckily enough for the killer, everyone thought the Collector to be dead.

It was so cold down there with Arkin feeling like he was freezing down to his bones. The air reeked of various chemicals, rust and his dried blood. It was a nauseating smell, but one he had gotten used to by now.

The ex thief was hanging from the ceiling, wrists bound together with a chain and rope and there were hooks sticking out of his back flesh to keep him still and from thrashing/struggling too much. He had been stripped naked by the killer, feet touching the ground so that his broken ankles had to support some of his weight...It was all so very painful.

 _How long has it been? Days? Weeks?_ Arkin wondered, biting his tongue to keep down a cry of pain as the razor sharp blade cut his thigh. He could feel how warm blood started to trickle down his leg, dripping onto the floor.

He had lost the track of time pretty soon after being brought down to the cold basement where he would undoubtedly die. There were no windows to let light in, nor clocks on the walls to tell the time. It was just him and a plethora of tools, chemicals and books on both human and animal anatomy; and of course the Collector.

The only way to see the passage of time was from the way his wounds healed.

One could barely recognize Arkin at first glance. His every single finger and toe had been broken along with his ankles from multiple points to make sure walking was impossible without help. Hell, even crawling would be painful. His neck was covered in dark purple and yellow bruises, with the skin torn and burnt by coarse rope.

Arkin's lungs were still burning from being deprived of oxygen just moments ago. He could still feel the Collector's leather gloved hands wrapped around his throat as he choked him, grip tightening to the point he almost crushed the thief's windpipe.

And if all that wasn't bad enough, more than few teeth had been knocked out as well by a punch and a chisel, and his body was covered in cuts, stab wounds, burn marks (both thermal and chemical) and bruises from head to toes.

Hell, he had been drugged out of his mind numerous times before being stuffed into the trunk for days on end. He had been starved, pried of water...the list could go on.

“God, damn it!” the captive man finally cried out in agony, unable to endure it when the Collector stomped down on his broken ankle. A pathetic sob escaped Arkin’s lips as he gazed at the ceiling, gritting his teeth as few tears of pain trailed down his face.

He had regretted his decision too many times to count when the torture became too much for him to bear. He had begged for death countless times, wanting to finally embrace whatever awaited him after his last breath, but it seemed as if the Collector was not in a hurry to end his life. The silent masked killer always ignored his please.

He knew he didn't have a single bargaining chip, having thrown them all out of the window the moment he had given himself to this man. He had nothing to offer or bargain with.

No, his existence was now solely in the Collector’s hands and he’d decide when it was time for him to go. He had been removed from all responsibility and control and it was at the same time both freeing and scary.

Still, there was only so much a human body could take before it expired from the accumulated damage or blood loss. It’d have to let heal before more pain could be induced. And by the looks of it, his useless body was nearing the end of the road. His captor was careful, making sure not to let infection set in and kill his prey too soon.

For a while now, Arkin had waited for the Collector to end his life, for his body was at its limit, but...it seemed fate hated him even in this matter, since the Collector seemed not to be in hurry.

After allowing himself to be taken, Arkin had never seen the man without his mask nor had heard him utter a single word. He was always silent, wearing that dark outfit and mask whenever he was giving his attention to his uninvited but quite welcome guest.

“Kill me already, why won’t you?” Arkin hissed through the pain. His slender body was coated in layer of cold sweat and though he was in constant state of pain, the excruciating agony that radiated up his leg and throughout his body drowned out all the other sources of pain.

However, as usual, the only reply he got from the Collector to his death wish and pleading was a soft and quiet, almost comforting “Shh..” hushing him quiet as the blade traveled down his side, opening an already healing scar wide open.

Arkin closed his eyes as he focused on the sharp and long cut, only to cry out in agony and thrash weakly in his bindings (that caused only more pain) when the man jammed the short blade into his flesh, knowing exactly where to strike in order not to cut any major arteries.

“Why won’t you end it!? I’m ready!” the broken man yelled, craving for the sweet release of death. “Don’t you want revenge? I destroyed your fucking collection!”

The masked killer merely tilted his head slightly to the side as he yanked the knife out, studying the beautiful dark red liquid that coated the blade and poured from the wound, and though Arkin wished he could die from blood loss, he knew it was not going to happen. He cut another wound along his captive's chest, slowly, gently.

This one was such a foolish and stupid creature, unaware that he’d never be granted that request, for he was the first piece in his new collection. He was such a perfect, beautiful and thoroughly twisted thing. His body was scarred, limbs broken and mangled, but it was his mind that was the most broken and ruined...and he was going to mold it more, to create something truly beautiful.

Arkin trembled and watched in fear how the masked man leaned closer, only to lick a trail of blood off his skin. It was as if he was enjoying the taste, ready to just tear Arkin apart limb from limb and devour his insides. The Collector's black mask, clothes and gloves were soaked in his prey's blood and the smell made the thief's head spin. The killer shifted his gaze up to see how his prey reacted.

“No...” Arkin whispered weakly, his voice sounding so hollow and desperate.

The knife wielding man hushed him silent again and Arkin had to avert his gaze; he just couldn't endure the stare of those reflective eyes any longer. He held his breath as the Collector continued to lick off the dark blood, his gloved hands exploring and feeling the thief's scarred and bruised body that had lost some weight. He coaxed a cry of pain from the man's lips by pushing digging his fingers into the open and bleeding wounds.

Arkin's mind was racing and he was quickly losing control over his own emotions that bubbled to the surface. Fear, despair, anger, confusion...they were all now a chaotic mess.

The captured male struggled a bit, his broken body twitching and turning in the restraints, but the hooks that tore at his back flesh made him stop. The Collector's free hand traveled downwards, finger tips tracing along the long fresh cut on O'Brien's chest...down all the way to his hips. A loud gasp of surprise mixed with fear escaped the thief's lips when the masked man grasped his limp cock.

He must have sounded like a fearful and pathetic animal because his captor just soothed his fears by moving his fingers slowly and gently, giving only pleasure, no pain. Arkin's whole body tensed up in the chains and he swallowed heavily. He had not been touched like this in a long time. The Collector started to stroke him slowly, yet firmly while licking off the fresh blood, savoring every drop on his tongue.

“What are you...?” Arkin asked, quickly closing his eyes in shame when his body started to react against his will to the unwanted stimuli. After all the pain and agony, to have someone touch him like this...how could his tired and injured body not react to the pleasure? Arkin felt disgusted with himself for getting aroused by the Collector's touch. Pain he was willing to accept but pleasure...ecstasy?

It felt so wrong, vile and perverted, making Arkin feel sick to his core. But, he couldn't deny that his captor's stroking felt incredibly good to him. The pleasure, it was like poison to his mind and soul, more effective in breaking him than any physical pain.

“Stop, just stop it, please!” Arkin cried out, not wanting any of this, but the Collector ignored him as usual. It was as if he couldn't even hear him. His strokes grew harder and more demanding and soon enough the bloody leather glove was dirty and slick with Arkin’s pre that only made the strokes feel better to the chained male. His eyes were heavily lidded and bit dreamy as the pleasure grew.

 _Just stop it, please, I don't want any of this,_ he thought, but deep down he wanted the man to continue. Having the deranged and sadistic serial killer get a reaction like this out of him made Arkin feel so ashamed and dirty. It was so humiliating and appalling. After everything he had seen and endured, how could the Collector arouse him like this?

The cellar became eerily quiet, with only the chinking of chains and the thief's quickening breathing chasing away the silence. Every now and then, a weak and breathless moans escaped his lips that were rewarded with few demanding strokes. They grew louder and more desperate by every passing moment...more exhilarated and needy.

It didn’t take long from his touch starved body to reach its peak. It was a rather pathetic sight, the beaten, cut and tortured man’s body quivering in pleasure as he came into his captor’s glove hand. The pleasure...it was a reward for being such a good and deprived piece in his new collection. The very first one.

The collector let Arkin down, his exhausted and spent body slumping ungracefully onto the cold floor that was caked with his dry blood. The thief's hands were still bound together and he struggled to get up onto his knees, expecting to be finally killed, his throat cut wide open from ear to ear so that he could bleed out on the cold basement floor for the murderer's enjoyment. Surely this was merely one last humiliation before he was done.

Alas, he was never going to be free or able to feel the bitter sweet embrace of death.

Without a warning, the Collector shoved his dirtied fingers inside Arkin’s mouth, knowing that his pet would not bite. He took the hint, licking the man’s gloved hand clean like a good dog, not biting him, not even thinking about such a thing. Arkin felt a shiver run down his spine when he tasted the leather along with his own cum and blood on his tongue. He did his best to leave his captor's glove spotless, licking it clean from both blood and cum.

He felt so thoroughly disgusted with himself, a small part of the thief wishing all humanity was forced out of him, for his mind to fall permanently into the oblivion and thus be released from the agonizing memory of Lisa and Cindy.

When his gloved hand were licked clean, the Collector took a moment to caress Arkin's head, massaging his scalp in almost affectionate manner.

The serial killer then grabbed a prepared syringe off the nearby metal tray, removing the plastic cap before showing it to his captive. Arkin was breathing heavily now, exhausted from the torture and orgasm that had drained him completely. He gazed up in confusion, not understanding why he was still not being killed.

However, a small and a bit demented smile formed on his lips when he saw the syringe, knowing exactly what was inside it. While the drug would not take away or even numb the physical pain, it would leave his mind completely fucked up for a good while. Without even realizing it, Arkin tilted his head ever so slightly to the side; an invitation for the serial killer to drug him.

He grit his teeth a bit when the sharp needle pierced his bruised skin, injecting him with the substance.

Once done, the Collector yanked the needle out and discarded it before gesturing towards the opened red trunk that rested against the wall. Usually he just dragged his prisoner's beaten and drugged body over to the trunk, shoving Arkin violently inside it. But...this time was different.

He'd have to drag himself over there himself.

Thus the broken man started to crawl and drag himself towards the red trunk. With his broken ankles, fingers and wrists, the crawl was a slow and painful one. The Collector observed his captive, walking slowly beside him, only to kick Arkin into stomach as hard as he could to halt the man's journey. The thief curled up slightly on the floor, coughing up blood onto the cold concrete floor, but he managed to collect himself and press on.

He made it to the red trunk that loomed over him, waiting for his familiar form to fill it. With his last strength, Arkin managed to drag himself inside, the drug having already taken a toll on his mind and body.

The lid closed once again with no promise when he’d get out again, if ever. Arkin made himself as comfortable as possible inside the trunk and just enjoyed the sensation of his mind quickly falling apart and into the void, with the only sensations he could focus on being the bleeding cuts and taste of leather, cum and blood that lingered on his tongue.

The Collector sat down on the trunk, waiting silently as his captive's mind and consciousness crumbled inside.

He truly liked this one. He was the most memorable addition to his collection, one he was not going to share with the world. No, this one was a piece only he could enjoy.

* * *

Arkin waited quietly inside the darkness of the trunk, having stirred from his slumber a while back. If he wanted to, he could easily leave the trunk and explore the large and still so empty building complex if he wanted to, for the box was not locked. But he had no interest in doing so whatsoever. What was the point if the Collector was not there?  
It had been six long months since Arkin had allowed himself to be taken, having expected to be tortured and then killed, but alas, the serial killer had had other plans for him from the very beginning.

Fortune and Fate truly seemed to despise and mock him, but he didn't really care about that anymore. In fact, all he cared the whole world would hate him. He could have put and end to the Collector, but he had chosen not to and thus, the kidnappings and murders had continued thanks to him.

His mind had been broken completely along with his body that had not healed properly. Mangled wrists and fingers, crooked feet...he was quite a piece of work. His body was beautiful, covered in healed scars and new ones he was rewarded daily.

Arkin was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the door to the office open and the light switch to be flipped. The cold fluorescent seeped into the trunk through the small gaps, making the thief inside squint his eyes a bit. He listened to the Collector’s steps that slowly approached his location. The man had found a new gallery for his collection a couple of months ago, starting a new with his work. He could often hear the desperate screams of agonizing pain to the office, a room he rarely left.

Arkin could feel a shiver of excitement run down his spine when the man kicked the trunk hard. He was in bad mood, and bad mood usually meant either pain or pleasure, often both. He absolutely loved it, the feeling of how filthy and disgusting he felt when forced onto the desk, the Collector on top of him, sating himself with his body, choking the life out of him while doing so. It was always violent, painful and messy between them, with Arkin's body oftentimes ending up lying on the cold floor.

The thief pushed the lid open and crawled out, naked with only a collar around his neck, one that choked.

He saw the man sitting at his desk.

Arkin looked at the man, only to cast down his gaze as usual when he was not wearing his mask. For him he was just Collector, not wanting to attach name or face to him. The mask was who the man really was, his true self. The Collector gestured him to come over to him and Arkin obliged, crawling underneath the desk and the serial killer's legs. His ankles or fingers had not healed properly and were now crooked.

The broken man almost sighed happily when he felt his captor's hand on his head, caressing him gently and encouraging him to pleasure him. Arkin couldn't help but lick his lips as he opened the man’s belt and black jeans. He carefully pulled down the last layer of cloth, finding his owner quite aroused by his obedient little pet already. The thought of the Collector being excited and aroused by him made Arkin...happy.

O'Brien closed his eyes as he leaned in, caressing the murderer's cock softly with his lips before giving it a slow and teasing lick, sighing in longing manner. He continued his gentle caressing for moment until his master was completely hard, showing him just how much he enjoyed doing this. Only when the Collector seemed to get slightly impatient did Arkin take his cock into his mouth, moaning wantonly as he did so.

The man’s hand caressed his head as he sucked and licked him, wanting to give pleasure to the man who had forced all the unnecessary sources of pain from his mind. Cindy, Lisa...they were merely ghosts of his past now; thinking of them gave him no pain...he barely even recalled them. They were unimportant and meaningless. The only thing that mattered in his life now was the the Collector.

Arkin felt rather bold today, placing his hand onto the man’s hips to support himself better, wanting to sneak a few caresses. His owner's body felt so warm and comforting in the cold environment...he missed it, the warmth that he got to feel so rarely, usually only when the man was on top of him, fucking his prey's drugged mind out of him.

Arkin doubled his efforts in making his captor come when he heard his breathing get ever so slightly quicker, feeling those gloved fingers press harder against his scalp. The Collector bucked his hips a bit and pressed his foot against Arkin's cock when he noticed how much his pet was enjoying this.

The thief let out yet another lewd moan, deep throating the man with experience gained over the six long painful and pleasurable months. It didn't take long before Arkin's efforts were rewarded. The serial killer groaned, or more like hissed, as he came into his prey's mouth who was quick to swallow it all down, savoring the bitter taste on his tongue and lips.

As usual, Arkin cleaned his owner's cock diligently, wondering if his performance would earn him another mark on his body. There were so many already....

But, this time the man didn't make an effort top pull out a knife and merely fixed his clothes as Arkin rested his head on his thigh, just enjoying the moment together with his master.

The thief smiled, looking so very tired.

Even though he had lost everything from his family, freedom, control and even health, he had never felt this happy in his life.

Even his death wish was gone, forced out of him over the six long months with help of pain, pleasure and drugs.

Life, death, it was all in the Collector’s hands now.

Sometimes he wondered, or more like wished the man would just give him an over dose and fuck him to death on that large table, watching as his mind slowly burned away as pleasure was forced into his body. Wouldn't that be a way to go?

Arkin arched his back a bit and closed his eyes when the Collector pushed his foot harder against his hardening cock, moaning and hissing in pleasure. He was starting to forget how to speak, then again, words were not needed between the two of them.

He had never thought his life would turn out like this.

As vile, despicable and disgusting as it was,

he had never been this content.

He had made the collection.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
